the flung weapon than that, but it sent an uneasy chill down her spine. A reminder that, though he seemed to tolerate more from her than most, she might be unwise to presume he found her teasing amusing.
Out of a sense of stubbornness, or maybe some delusion it would impress him, Amaranthe opted for bravado rather than outward unease-or an apology. She tugged the blade free and held it up. “You dropped this.”
His soft exhalation might have been a snort.
The strange black metal of the knife seemed to swallow the wan light coming through the window above. He had never explained where he had acquired it or what it was made from. She shuffled over and laid it next to him.
“Do you want some apple juice?” She hefted the jug.
“No.”
“You’re probably not that practiced at being sick, but the doctors say you’re supposed to drink liquids.”
“Bring water then. That’s too sweet.”
“You say that about everything that tastes good,” Amaranthe said. “Maybe the reason you’re sick is that you don’t eat anything except fish, meat, and vegetables, and all you ever drink is water. You-” She halted as a new thought ricocheted through her head. “Water. Is that it?”
Sicarius issued an inquisitive grunt.
“When did you start feeling sick?” she asked.
“Last night.”
He had been snippier than usual the night before, and maybe not just because of Ellaya’s interests.
“You drink a lot of water,” Amaranthe said. “Where’d you drink yesterday? The city fountains?”
“Yes, and the tap here.”
“Maldynado’s sick, too, and he said he drank a lot of water. I feel fine.” She closed her eyes, thinking about what she had consumed the previous day. “I had water yesterday morning, but switched to a pitcher of tea in the afternoon-tea I made the day before.” Was it possible the public works lord had come because of a complaint about water? Were other people in the city ill? Maybe it had been the water itself Akstyr had sensed down in the tunnels. Some kind of magical poison? “I have to talk to the others.”
Amaranthe started to turn away, eager to check her hypothesis, but she paused, remembering Sicarius probably felt miserable. She touched his shoulder.
“Can I get you anything? Milk? Tea?”
“I require nothing,” Sicarius said.
Of course not. He had probably never accepted help from anyone in his life. “You know,” Amaranthe said, “you’ve saved my life countless times. I owe you a lot, and I certainly wouldn’t mind taking care of you while you’re sick.”
“Go solve your mystery.” Sicarius rolled onto his side, turning his back to her.
Amaranthe sighed and left to talk to the others.
• • • • •
Books finished his glass of milk and bent over a three-day-old copy of The Gazette. More newspapers, those from underground presses as well as government-approved ones, scattered the desk. He scribbled notes onto a piece of paper, cursing when his pencil pierced the page, thanks to a knot hole beneath.
The wood plank balanced on crates made a poor desk, and the lack of windows left him grumbling about the lamp’s weak illumination, but at least he had the boiler room to himself while the other men moaned and bellyached in the sleeping area. Though not Sicarius, of course. He would never deign to wallow in communal misery.
Amaranthe walked in, a fresh newspaper tucked under her arm. “How’s it going?”
“How’s it going? Last night, I was nearly blown up, then I was attacked by a loon with a club, and then I almost smacked into a pile of enforcers, and finally I twisted my ankle following Sicarius out a window. Today I have a monstrous headache, not to mention scabs in places that should never be exposed to violent acts. Also, at some point, I tripped and stubbed my toe against the end of my boot. The nail is turning purple. I think it may fall off.”
She pointed at the desk. “I meant the research.”
“Oh.” His cheeks warmed. “The research is fine. I’m your researcher extraordinaire. You know that. Why else would you have given me this pile of work?”
Someone else would have made a snide comment, pointing out he was the only other person in the group who hadn’t been drinking water and wasn’t sick, but she simply patted his shoulder and said, “Because you can handle it.”
He shuffled through his notes. “I haven’t found anything about the water in these papers, or remote lots in the mountains, but there are a lot of incidents of vandalism and violence toward the foreigners who have set up shop here in the last few months.” He paused at the sound of rustling papers. Amaranthe was tidying the desk, though she watched him as she did it, maybe not aware of her busy hands. “These problems aren’t all that surprising,” Books went on, “but they do seem to be escalating. More incidents in the last couple of weeks than in the previous months combined.”
“Interesting.” Amaranthe finished straightening the papers, swept pencil shavings into her hand, and carried them to the furnace for disposal. “The question is, does this tie in with the water problems, or are we looking at two mysteries?”
“You don’t look daunted by the possibility.”
“More problems, more work. We need to focus on the water issue though. It’s more of an…opportunity. More of a chance for us to get noticed if we solve the problem.” She laid the morning’s newspaper on the newly tidied desk.
The front page headline of The Gazette screamed: THOUSANDS ILL;
EPIDEMIC COMES TO CITY.
“Ah, I see.” Books skimmed the article. “No mention of the water.”
“My guess could be incorrect, or maybe they hadn’t figured out the connection when the paper was put together.”
“Or they may know and not want people to burst into hysterics,” Books said. “As much as this city enjoys its juice, brandy, and wine, it wouldn’t take long to run out of water alternatives and for people to start hoarding. Theft and fights would break out. It could be utter chaos.”
“The soldiers in Fort Urgot would impose martial law before complete pandemonium broke out, but, yes, this represents a massive problem.” She bounced on her toes and smiled.
“Good birthday present, eh?”
“Well, I don’t wish people to be sick, especially our own men.”
“But…”
“But, yes, this is a gift. Maybe. If we’re able to make use of it.”
“You have something in mind?” Books asked. “A journey into the mountains to investigate the source?”
“That would be a good idea, but we’re not sure where that source is yet. I think another trip is in order first.” She nodded at him. “And you’re the perfect person to go on it.”
“A mission for just the two of us?” The incident at Mitsy’s Maze-where he had proven completely ineffectual in a crisis-still haunted him. Though their daily training had improved his fitness and combat skills over the last couple of months, he worried how he would react in another desperate situation.
“More like an errand,” Amaranthe reassured him. “I want to seek out your new lady friend and have a chat.”
“Lady friend?” he asked casually, though a tingle of anticipation fluttered through his belly at the thought of Vonsha.
“Aren’t you wondering how she’s doing after the explosion? And why there was an explosion to start with? Was she the target? Were you the target? Would anyone who was researching that spot in the mountains have
